


Things To Do With A Drunken Pirate

by orphan_account



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Community: fic_on_demand, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, M/M, Male Protagonist, Orgy, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Pirates, Prostitution, Smut, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-05
Updated: 2007-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Kira-K on Fic-on-Demand.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Things To Do With A Drunken Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kira-K on Fic-on-Demand.

The journey to Tortuga was hardly enough to recover the crew of The Black Pearl from the high of their most spectacular, if not lucrative victory yet. They'd knocked off an Indiaman on the way, though, and while the bosun was busy selling everything away at half-price, the crew set about town to have a bit of fun. While most of them disappeared into the nearest knocking shops, Hector Barbossa, who had been up all night reading charts, sent out a few discreet messages and headed out to the Sow's Head.

Barbossa had had quite a bit of money, once upon a time, and though he'd since stolen it all back and set it back in its cave, he still had a room in The Sow's Head near Tortuga harbor, kept for him whenever he was in town. In practice this meant that the tenant was kicked out on his arrival, and Minnie even gave it a sweep before he was sent up. It was as close to home-coming as land could offer him, now.

The wooden floor was unnaturally still, and for a man used to the rank dirt floors of a pirate ship, it was unnaturally clean as well, despite the sand creaking under his boots. Barbossa threw his hat on the table and dropped down on the luxurious expanse of bed. The Sow's Head was one of the nicer inns in the port, with linen and - dare he believe it - a cockroach-free cotton mattress? That was new. He even thought of kicking his boots off, but dozed off first, soothed by the sensation of the ground rocking beneath him.

He was woken rather rudely by the smell of rum and rotting teeth somewhere near his face. He recoiled, startled, and hit his head on the bedpost. Swearing loudly, he groped for his sword, but by the time he had a hold of the handle his head had cleared up enough to recognize Jack Sparrow.

'Is this really the time?' he said, relaxing for now, but taking a better hold of the sword nonetheless. He could see Jack was even more drunk than usual, from his wide unsteady smile - an analysis further supported by Jack slowly falling off the bed.

'Came to show you,' he said, pulling himself up to the bed by his elbows, 'come to show you my new glass.' He waves a long packet around. 'Found it this morning. In the market. Look at that glass.'

It was indeed a very long spyglass, and Hector barked a short nasty laugh. 'I can't believe they say you are my nemesis. I should've been captain all along.'

'Firsh mate canna have better glass,' said Sparrow, collapsing slowly back on the floor.

He was out like a light, and Barbossa determined as much when he rounded the bed and poked Jack with his boot, a bit on the rough side. 'Never could get over the comparison, did you, Jack?' he said as he picked up the half-empty bottle of rum Jack was still clutching, and took a swig. Barbossa was bigger and smarter than Jack, a better captain and even capable of maintaining a degree of sobriety. It never ceased to amuse him when Jack tried to compete - except when he succeeded.

They'd stopped trying to kill each other a week or so to the journey back, and the silent assumption had been that hostilities would resume on dry land. If this was Jack's opening move, it was a very poor one indeed. Barbossa contemplated his options; murder was only one of the things you could do with a drunken sailor. What he mainly wanted was clear enough - the Pearl, back under his more deserving command, and with the crew that knew her best. This inevitably meant shaking Jack, and if Jack were to be following him around chucking coconuts at him he'd never manage to slip away quietly, even if he found enough gold upfront to persuade the crew. They were fond of Jack, and would never go with Barbossa if he murdered the man in his sleep.

He smoked a pipe as, outside, the tropic heat slowly surrendered to approaching night, contemplating.

\---

Jack Sparrow woke up with the his mouth tasting of fabric and dried rum, his whole body sluggish, and the familiar sensation of probably having done something foolish before falling asleep. He groaned, and someone - a woman - squealed. 'Oh look, he's waking up!' The bed - bed? - jumped as someone scented and rustling fell down next to him.

'Good evening, Jack,' said another voice he certainly did not associate with sweet scents and rustling - short perhaps from that time he'd insisted on keeping the ladies' dresses in his cabin - nonetheless. There was also a thumping sound and more rustling somewhere nearby. And sighs. Feminine sighs, of a very specific sort.

Jack forced an eye open, blinking in the dim light of a few candles arranged around the room. The Sow's Head - he remembered that much. And the marketplace, and that wonderful glass that would finally show Barbossa - and rum - lots of rum. And now there was a shape, with two heads and four legs, poised on a worn padded chair in the shadows - thumping. He recognized Barbossa's large, long-fingered hands on the back of the the woman's yellow dress.

'Jack, Jack,' said the woman next to him plaintively, threading her fingers through his matter hair. 'Look at me, sweetheart,' and Jack did, and she smiled wide and popped open the top button of her already very small bodice.

'Go on, Jack,' said Barbossa, the whites of his eyes gleaming from over Giselle's shoulder as she continued to bounce on him. 'It's on me.'

Jack might have made some objections, but in fact he'd been growing steadily harder since he first recognized the thumping sound (somewhere around the same second he'd realized he was still in Barbossa's room). Scarlett made short work of whatever will remained by flipping him on his back, and grinding her hips against his. Dazed, he grabbed her bodice, slipped the flimsy cloth down until her nipples were revealed, dark against the powder even in this half-light. She straddled him, and he blessed his stars for the universal mercy of women who wore no trousers.

She'd used some lubricant, and if he remembered right from his previous stays, it was likely to have been Giselle's tongue - there was nothing real about the passion she displayed, but Jack couldn't care less at the time. He ground into her, his face in between her sweet plump breasts, listening to the thump thump thump of the chair until it was joined and matched by the thumping of the bed into the wall.

He woke up again some time later, still undone and a little splattered. He must have passed out after coming. The room seemed lighter, morning creeping in on the horizon. Next to him sat Barbossa in nothing but a shirt - watching the women. Giselle had taken Barbossa's post on the chair, and it was Scarlett, now, who moaned in her arms.

'Pretty sight, ain't it?' said Barbossa with a downwards smirk at Jack.

'Very handsome.'

'Nice glass, Jack,' he added, with a shameless look down to where Jack still hung out of his trousers. Instinctively, Jack's gaze travelled to Barbossa's equivalent, which lay against his thigh, just revealed by a twist of the shirt. It rather ended that particular competition, there.

Barbossa grabbed Jack's chin, twisting his head back with his long fingers. Jack was getting hard again, and he swallowed. Barbossa looked at him with something approaching warmth in his smile, and descended upon him.

Mouth-to-mouth, Barbossa was nothing like Giselle, or even the boys Jack had bedded - he was scratchy and smelled of vinegar and sweat. His hands and body were hot as he pushed back Jack's shirt, his trousers, pinned him down on the bed. His prick was the hottest part of all as it poked against Jack's, and it sent such a jolt of desire through his hips, it was as if he'd never tupped in a year, rather than in the last half hour. Barbossa's tongue was in his mouth, it's motions making whorish promises.

Jack tried to strategize, even through the desire. This sort of situation called for cleverness, or at least luck. For... Bloody hell, he'd just blame it on booze. Jack grabbed Hector and pulled him down on himself, crushing their mouths and hips together.

A hand closed around him - and Hector - both of them, and Jack pushed up into the embrace of moist fingers and palm and prick, a halting moan escaping his lips. It wouldn't have taken even as long as Scarlett had, but it wasn't even that long before Hector flipped him over and pulled his trousers down.

It wasn't his first time this way around, though he confessed he would've preferred it otherwise. He caught site of the women, who had stopped, and were staring at them, fascinated and somehow gleeful. Scarlett tossed something to Barbossa. Jack closed his eyes and rubbed the tip of his prick on the mattress, for what little stimulation he could be allowed.

He was entered with less resistance and pain that he could remember, and as Barbossa roughly arranged his hips and thrust deep, he was struck my a bolt of painpleasure like nothing else. The next thrust was slower, and the pain receded. Again and again, slow and sweet until it began to be too slow, and Jack pushed his hips back to meet the motion, rubbing against the sweet length of Barbossa's magnificent member with unexpected pleasure. His own prick had began to soften, though he barely noticed, being taken up in the deeper pleasure, more and more and faster and faster. Barbossa was grunting behind him, then bent over him, hot breath on his ear, and bent his legs wider apart and back, and the new angle made Jack gasp. Then Barbossa came, warm moisture pouring inside Jack, and grunting collapsed on top of him.

He was heavy, and Jack's prick had been growing harder again between his belly and the mattress. Giselle and Scarlett giggled and whispered. Not a minute passed before Barbossa withdrew, and that motion sent another shiver of pleasure up Jack's spine. Without a word, Barbossa then turned him around, spread his legs again, and put his head down to fulfill the earlier promises of his tongue.

Jack was not a noisy one, but he cried out now, cried out as he undulating let fly his seed, which was swallowed by the most unfertile recepticle of Hector's mouth and throat.

\---

The days passed in a fervour of wantonness of all flavours. Jack stayed in Barbossa's room, and so did Giselle and Scarlett, on most nights. The rum flowed, and it was only through an effort of will that Jack remembered to brief Stubbs on the date they were to sale again, Jack as captain, Barbossa as first mate, almost just like old days. There was plenty more tme - and anyhow, as captain, Jack could re-set the date as often as he pleased.

It was pure chance that he decided to show the girls the ship before she sailed, and found Stubbs asleep on the pier while the Black Pearl, the love of his life, had run off again, under the usurper's seductive thrall.

In a way it was a relief to be chaser and chased again - after all, he was much more used to this state of relations between him and Barbossa; and besides, his bum was getting sore.


End file.
